


Fifty and Five Peaches

by enoby_w



Series: High school AU- MF/HP [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoby_w/pseuds/enoby_w
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was never very social. Marcus wasn't very approachable. Au-three shot Slash- Marcus/Harry</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I finally made an account on here and am doing a bit of cross posting. Starting with this- since I think its my favorite of all the things I've written. 
> 
> As always: I would like to thank Anna for putting up with me writing this on your floor and to E r i a h for betaing this for me and putting up with my poor grammar, and Ex Mentis for looking it over as well. There may be errors. If you spot one let me know and I will fix it.
> 
> And Feedback is deeply appreciated
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine.

Part One: The Rain

Harry laid spread eagle on the empty hardwood floor, a tan arm thrown over his eyes. Stacks of boxes were pushed up against the wall leaving the floor mostly open. A thick red carpet was poking his left arm, the carpet rolled up and laid partially against the far wall under the two windows looking out on the sun filled suburban street.

Fuck suburbia, fuck America, and fuck this. This isn't what he wanted; he wanted to be home, to be anywhere other than where he was.

A breeze blew in through the open windows, slowly dissipating the horrible stuffiness of the second-story bedroom.

Everything here was different. He missed London already, and he just got here; wherever here was. He missed the city, the rain, The Impostor, and as he lay perfectly still on the floor he could hear his mother down stairs. She was under his room, in the kitchen, humming cheerfully. Why she was so happy was totally beyond him; there was nothing for them here.

The light in Harry's room began to dull, the sunny afternoon melting into a rainy dusk. The sound of heavy drops was distinctive on the metal roof over head. The drops picked up speed; the whole room was filled with the echoing sound of the rain.

Harry closed his eyes and listened. He thought back a year previous, back when he felt invincible and, for the first time in he-didn't-know-how-long, happy. Now in less than a month he'd be seventeen and would be back where he'd started: nowhere.

So he focused on the rain and thought back to a day when he was still in London, before everything changed; back to the beginning.

It had been early fall and grey. Before London was covered in snow, instead a persistent chill hung in the air. A light rain fell, so light it was more like a mist. If one sat out in it long enough they'd be soaked through.

Harry sat on the only unbroken swing in the small park near his house. He had been there long enough for his school clothes to be damp and cling uncomfortably in awkward places.

He was lonely, frustrated, and bored; really, he was more bored than anything else. Harry had always been shy and never very social. As a consequence, even as the years went by, he hadn't managed to befriend anyone. So there he sat, just sixteen and friendless, on a perfectly good Friday afternoon. Instead of heading straight home to get his homework out of the way he'd stopped in the park to occupy otherwise unused time.

So far the two hours he'd sat there he had been lucky. No one came up the cracked concrete path and he'd relaxed. Then he heard heavy footsteps coming up the path from the woods. He looked up sharply, worried it may have been his cousin's gang of oversized morons. Ready to bolt if need be.

To Harry's relief it wasn't the gang that frequented the park.

It was just a boy.

He looked to be two, maybe three years older than Harry, and was certainly much bigger then slender Harry, who stood five foot ten and a bit on a good day. The boy was at least six feet tall and built strong. He had dark hair; a jagged style that fell slightly into his dark eyes.

He walked out of the woods, and up the cracked path. He stopped in front of the wall opposite the swings, and hoisted himself up onto the wall. He leaned back against a slender tree, his long jean clad legs dangled over the edge of the wall.

This dark and angry looking boy fascinated Harry; he looked to be everything that Harry was not. The boy's strong jaw looked as though it often jutted out in stubborn defiance, and a yellowing bruise was fading from his left cheek. He shook his damp hair out of his face, and pulled a slightly crushed box of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He tapped one free, placed in between his teeth and expertly lit up.

He inhaled deeply, and as he breathed out his lung-full of smoke his body relaxed. The tightness and anger in his face melted away.

Harry couldn't stop staring. He couldn't help how people fascinated him, but this time he was terrified that the boy would notice Harry watching him. He never did. He finished his cigarette, checked the time, sighed and pushed himself off the wall. He landed heavily and sloped off; leaving Harry alone once more.

Harry didn't dare linger any longer on the swing. The sun had begun to set. He didn't want to risk meeting Dudley's gang, and started home. The walk wasn't long; he left in the opposite direction of the woods, and came out of the park at the top on the hill leading to his house.

Harry opened the gate letting it bang closed behind him, as his mother wasn't there to scold him and stomped the stairs to the front door. He bent and pulled the extra key from under the yellow flower pot and let himself in.

Harry dropped his heavy school bag next to the stairs, kicked off his wet trainers and padded up stairs to change out of his very wet uniform.

Harry was glad his mother wasn't home; she had the tendency to coddle him. He never understood why. He was slender, and still not as tall as his father, but he was capable. He was by no means a frail boy.

He could take care of himself, given the chance; and he was hoping if he managed to grow a few more inches his mother would lay off and just let him be. He did love her and her intentions were good but often Harry had to agree with his father that she just was way too serious about everything.

Harry hung his damp uniform in the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and wandered into his room, absentmindedly toweling off his wet hair. Once he was sufficiently dry he pulled on a ratty pair of pajama pants and worn shirt and sat near his bed looking through his books for something to occupy his time. Although he had never found immense pleasure in reading, he did find it amusing and a good way to pass the time.

He pulled one of his favorites from the packed shelf, settled on his bed, and opened to the first page. He ended up simply staring at the words unable to process them. No matter how much he tried to focus his mind wandered back to the boy in the park.


	2. Part Two: The Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank E r i a h for betaing this for me and putting up with my poor grammar and Ex Mentis for also looking it over for me.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! Any feed back is appreciated.

The next Friday Harry once again found himself sitting on a swing in the rain. He hoped that the boy would come back, though Harry was unsure of what he would do if he did.

The dark haired boy did come back. Just as he had before, he hoisted himself onto the high wall opposite the swings. He pulled the now very crushed, and nearly empty, pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

Harry got off his swing. He started to cross the grass toward the boy perched on the wall. He had no idea what he was doing and was sure he was going to get himself into some sort of trouble, as he so often did when he would suddenly decide to go do something. He had yet come to regret any of these impulsive decisions.

The boy hadn't noticed Harry's approach; he was struggling to get his lighter to actually light. Harry was getting close and at a total loss of what he was going to do once he got to the wall; it didn't help that he was just slightly terrified of what might happen. He was near the wall when the boy looked up after successfully lighting his cigarette.

The boy looked bemused; he stared at Harry a moment, before taking the cigarette from his lips and held it carefully between two fingers. He looked expectantly at Harry, who, when standing next to the wall, only came up to the boy's hips.

The boy cocked his head, dark bangs falling into his eyes; he let out a breath of smoke and asked, "You want something?"

Harry stood petrified and desperately tried to act as if he wasn't actually scared shitless. He cleared his throat and prayed to something, anything that whatever he said was at least partially coherent, and that his voice wouldn't crack. And he opened his mouth.

Marcus stared incredulously down at this kid, this kid who had just asked-albeit a bit shakily- for one of his last precious cigarettes. He was honestly surprised that the kid had approached him at all; he tended to intimidate people.

When Marcus first noticed the kid he expected him to ask for directions or something equally stupid. Not for a cigarette. Marcus really didn't want to give one of the last few cigarettes up; they were a pain to come by and hella expensive, and the kid didn't really look like he wanted it. And then he, like the total moron he was, opened his mouth without thinking.

"Give us a kiss then."

What the fuck? Did his brain just not work? Fuck. Too late, he was just going to have to go with it. Of all the moronic…

Harry stared at the boy, open-mouthed. He didn't think he could have heard properly.

"Um…excuse me?" he asked mortified.

"You heard me-give us a kiss and I'll give you a cig. That is, if you really want one," the boy easily responded, his dark eye's daring Harry to do it. And Harry, having already stopped thinking rationally, did.

Honestly it wasn't much of a kiss, more of a peck really. But Marcus was totally caught off guard. He hadn't actually expected the kid to do it and was forced to begrudgingly hand over a cigarette.

Up until this point Harry felt that he hadn't made a total fool of himself, but after the kiss he was in shock. Yet he somehow managed to light his cigarette on the first try.

The odd pair stood in silence and in the end got a sort of conversation going. Marcus' thick jacket kept most of the rain off, but he would periodically toss his head trying to keep his jagged bangs out of his face.

He eyed Harry's uniform, "You go that place on the hill?" he asked, his voice deep and gravelly from the smoke.

"Foxwood? Yeah, I go there. It's pretty awful really, filled with the very rich, the very pretentious who like to pretend to be the very rich, and then there's me."

Marcus nodded. He wasn't exactly sure what "pretentious" meant, but he had the gist of what Harry said, and figured it was just better to nod along.

After a great deal of awkward silence, Marcus stubbed out what was left of his cigarette and stretched, "I gotta get going, see ya around."

Harry watched him jump off the wall, start down the cracked concrete path, and disappear into the woods on the edge of the park.

As soon as he was out of site Harry stamped out his half used cigarette and spat as a desperate attempt to rid his mouth of the foul taste.

"That is utterly disgusting," he muttered darkly, wiping his mouth.

Harry slumped against the wall and sat heavily on the wet ground. He closed his eyes to better contemplate what had just happened. He'd always been able to think better when he cut himself off from the rest of the world.

It was then that he realized a few things in quick succession. One, he had just kissed a boy. A boy he didn't know anything about. And that just happened to be his first kiss. Harry had never held any particular romantic notions about first kisses, but he would have liked to have at least known his name.

His second realization was far more important, and slightly more dire. His parents wouldn't be going out that night; his father was visiting a friend his mother didn't like all that much. If Harry didn't start running that very second his mother would beat him home. She would smell the stupid cigarette on him, and then she'd yell and rant and ground him forever.

He didn't hesitate; he took off across the wet grass towards the swings. On his way past, Harry scooped up his old school bag and sprinted out of the park. He came flying down the hill toward his house, his foot struck an uneven bit in the side walk and he narrowly missed a very painful fall into the post box on the corner.

His house was in sight, the gate closed and Harry's lungs screaming for relief. As he reached the drive instead of slowing he vaulted the gate. He stumbled up the steps, fumbling to unlock the door. Once he got into the house, he habitually checked the clock on the book shelf in the hall and paled. It was a miracle she wasn't back yet.

Harry all but threw his old bag into the living room to the right of the stairs, not caring that his things went skidding half way across the room. He started up the stairs, feet pounding, stripping as he went. He tripped over the last step, while trying to rip off his dripping pants.

He skidded into the laundry room, bundled his clothes into the washing machine, and slammed the lid closed.

When he glanced out the window he could see his mother's car coming up the drive.

Cursing, he flicked on the washing machine and dove into the shower, fumbling to turn the water on not caring that it would most likely be frigid.

He held his breath, standing under the icy spray waiting for the front door to open. When it did, he slumped to the floor in relief. He had made it, although he thought it was much closer of a call then he would have liked, and he didn't plan on repeating the experience. His fingers scrubbed his dark hair, all the while trying to avoid thinking about the awkward dinner that was sure to follow his rushed, and mostly very cold, shower.

The water was just starting to warm to an acceptable temperature when he flicked it off and stepped-shaking-from the shower. Without James around to act as a buffer his mother was free to ask all sorts of prying questions that Harry would really rather not answer.

But, Harry reasoned that his mother's prying for a night was far better than his aunt's family coming for dinner. He would take awkward questions over spending any amount of time with Dudley every time without fail.

Dinner, as predicted, was a mess of awkward silences and even more awkward conversation, and afterward Harry collapsed on his bed, the whole day running through his exhausted mind. He decided that if all his Friday's were anything like this one he'd go mad.


	3. The Impostor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no update. Oops. There is a sequel to this. The first part will be up shortly.

The following Friday followed a strikingly similar pattern. Harry ended up in the park, sitting on the swing, with nothing better to do.

He sat dragging his feet in the dust, the swing moving ever so slightly back and forth, waiting for the boy, who did eventually wander out of the woods and hoist himself onto the high wall.

When Harry forced himself to approach the boy he was met with a slightly scary lopsided grin.

"Hey," The boy said, as he lay back on the still soggy ground above the wall.

"Hey," muttered Harry leaning on the wall near the boy's knees. For the first time that week it wasn't raining and was just starting to get hot. Harry had been sitting on his swing basking in the sun before the boy had appeared, he had ditched his school things and rolled over his sleeves in an attempt to not over heat.

Like the previous week Harry asked for a cigarette, thankfully this time his voice didn't shake nearly as much. The boy laughed, deep, and throaty, Harry looked up at him an eyebrow raised.

"Well," the boy said still smiling his slightly scary smile, "Give us a kiss then."

Harry rolled his eyes and did.

As kisses go, it was rather awkward. Standing on tip toes Harry still couldn't reach the boy. Who, in turn ducked his head. He had to bend so far forward that he nearly tumbled head first off the wall. This would have inevitably crushed Harry.

"So, am I to call you something or just keep referring to you as the boy who bums my cigarettes?" asked the boy as he pulled a different brand of mostly crushed cigarettes from his discarded jacket pocket.

Harry took the offered cigarette, "I'm Harry; and you are?"

"Marcus."

Harry nodded while trying, and failing, to light up his cigarette. He paused, and tried again, only to again fail.

"You're kind of crap at this." Marcus commented, eyeing Harry's struggle, "Here lemme," he added in exasperation. He took back the cigarette, and stuck it between his teeth, deftly lighting the end before handing it back to the abashed Harry.

"Careful of the end"

"Fucking-buggering-OW!"-Harry hadn't heard the warning in time, burning the ends of his fingers and nearly dropping the cigarette.

Marcus took the afflicted hand, while stubbing out the cigarette, "We'll try that again in a mo', damn you got that pretty good."

Marcus's hands were much larger then Harry's. He turned that smaller hand palm up, careful to not accidentally brush the afflicted section; he bent the injured fingers slightly to get a better look at the burned tips.

"You really did a number," muttered Marcus, "That's going to blister. It hurt real bad?"

Harry had been intently watching Marcus nodded.

"Well, that just sucks."

Marcus took the two badly burnt fingers, bringing them to his mouth, and began to gently suck on the ends. This action shocked the already rather confused Harry. "That should help a bit, normally does. Ice that later, or put something on it. So, ready to try that again?"

Harry nodded.

Marcus looked skeptically at Harry, and re-lit the cigarette, "Mind your fingers; don't want a repeat."

Harry gingerly took the burning cancer stick, and brought it to his lips, only sputtering slightly after inhaling.

"There you go, don't know how you managed before."

They sat in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by Harry's periodic coughing fits. Eventually Marcus dug his cell phone from his jacket, and sighed at the time. He jumped down from his perch on the wall; he muttered a good-bye and sloped off into the woods.

Somehow Harry made it into the shower before his mother walked in the front door. He sat on the shower floor, water running down his back, arms shaking with adrenaline. He was sure that his luck wouldn't continue and soon she would catch him. Yet the prospect of misbehaving seemed much more appealing than it should have.

Harry's meetings with Marcus become a constant, like clockwork the two of them could be found sitting on the wall every Friday. Eventually it became a near daily habit. Harry would sit near the wall, usually on his swing, and would wait for Marcus to wander out of the woods. Eventually he'd arrive, hoist himself on the wall and slowly teach Harry how to smoke properly.

It was a Wednesday, and Harry was late getting out of school. He'd had, on the whole, much better days, as days go. He sat dust covered and frustrated at the foot of the brick wall waiting for Marcus.

Today all he really wanted was a damn cigarette, he just needed to be able to relax, and forget his less than stellar day.

Marcus was late. Well, not exactly late, but if he was coming he normally would have shown up already. Harry figured he'd give him a few more minutes, he really wanted that cigarette. He was seriously considering walking home, when Marcus stumbled, head down out of the woods. Since they'd met it was the first, and one of the only times Harry saw Marcus anything less than steady on his feet.

As he stumbled towards Harry his eyes never left the ground. Harry was shocked. He could just make out a dark bruise on Marcus's left cheek. Marcus didn't bother to try and hoist himself onto the wall, instead he sank to the ground next to Harry, leaning heavily back against the brick wall.

"Hey," he breathed, he was quite, then sighed and muttered, "I fucked up, a bit..."

"Oh…?" asked Harry, for the first time in a while Marcus made him nervous.

"Yeah...God, did I fuck up. But," he sighed, "I think it should be okay." He let out a long shaky breath and rested his head on Harry's narrow shoulder, his dark hair falling all about his face and in his eyes.

"What happened?" asked Harry his voice low, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

Marcus tilted his head to the sky, and took a deep breath, "I failed this term." His voice was flat, "No hope, fucking flat out failed."

"Shit." Harry breathed, "Are you-can you make it up?"

"No. Not worth it, failed the damn thing last year." Marcus pulled his long legs to his chest, "Just too fucking stupid, or something. Never been book smart, I'm a total fuck up, but it's done, and now I can fuck up on my terms."

"What do you mean...Your terms?"

"I'm on my lonesome, the bastard told me not to bother coming home, one hell of a nasty argument. So now I get to do this my way." Marcus hadn't moved, his head still tilted back, dark hair in his eyes.

Harry look at him eyes wide, "Your face-I mean-I"

Marcus looked at the sputtering Harry curiously, "What? Is it that bad? I didn't think it was."

"No, I mean, well are you alright? What are you going to do?" asked Harry, tripping over his words.

"Me? I'm fine. My face hurts, but whatever. I'll just stay with my mates for a while, till I can get a proper job and a flat. I should be over there now, just figured I'd put off telling them a bit. They're going to murder me."

"I just-" started Harry,

Marcus cut him off, "Just forget it, I need a smoke."

Marcus handed Harry a smoke without being prompted, and Harry as always owed the other boy a kiss. He leaned in and gently kissed the bruise near to Marcus's eye before reaching his lips.

This one was real, not just a peck, it was lip on lip. Harry felt Marcus press back, his tongue on Harry's lips. Harry, lost in the feeling of his first real kiss, obediently parted his lips, allowing the other boy to completely ravish him.

When Marcus pulled back for a breather, Harry was totally out of breath. His dark hair was thoroughly mussed, and lips were a bright cherry red. Marcus dragged his thumb down Harry's smooth cheek, as the boy leaned into his touch. He bent his head, sucking on Harry's throat.

Harry tilted his head back, and gripped Marcus's strong shoulder, as he kissed all along his neck, nipping as he went. Marcus laid his head in the crook of Harry's neck; his hot breath brought goose bumps to the sensitive skin.

"So," said Marcus, smiling into Harry's neck, "I've gotten my kiss then"

The days grew steadily colder, until neither boy was content to meet in the park. They would freeze. That's when Marcus took Harry to The Impostor. The cafe was in the heart of all sorts of strange shops selling just about anything you could possibly want. Just off the high street near the center of Knockturn Alley.

Harry was in awe of everything around him, he'd never been down the alley, his parents had always vehemently told him to stay on the high street. But now, he was given a different perspective, and with that perspective came the strange bunch that Marcus called his mates.

The Impostor was the home base of the group. That's where they spent many winter days, all of them holed up in a booth near the bar, drinking their way through twice their weight in steaming coffee. It was where Marcus got a job, and ended up living for most of the winter.

The group that sat crammed into the one booth was an odd one. At the most there were six of them. The owner of the Cafe, Bella, had adopted the group. She gave Marcus a job, she made sure nothing happened to Luna, and that Lee didn't accidental piss off the wrong person.

Luna was a wispy looking girl, with the most beautiful imagination, she and Harry would sit and talk of imaginary places, and make up all sorts of farfetched tales of fantastic creatures.

She would sit cramped against the wall next to Harry, always drinking a hot cup of tea. More often than not she was accidentally kicked by the over enthusiastic Lee Jordan, who sat opposite her.

Lee was always quick to laugh, his eyes danced with mischief, and with Harry at his side they caused all sorts of havoc for Marcus and Adrian. Adrian was the only one who was as old as Marcus. He was the smart one, the one with the real job, i.e. the one who bought them all coffee and generally kept everyone in line.

Not long after Harry started to frequent The Impostor the adventures started. Someone would get a random idea and then drag the whole group along to do whatever they deemed interesting, and with these adventures came the 3:00 am phone calls.

Harry would be sound asleep, it would usually be a school night and his phone would buzz. The vibration noisily moved the phone across his desk exaggerating the sound. Almost immediately Harry would wake, and half asleep he'd fumble across his room desperate for the sound to not wake his parents.

He'd answer with a sleepy, "S'hllo?"

He'd wait, dreading and anticipating what the reply would be.

"Harry," Marcus would say, his deep voice reverberating through the cheap phone "Dust off your converse; we've a universe to save."

After that single silly sentence, he'd hang up, and every time no matter how tired Harry felt, or what day it was or if he just plain didn't want to go, every time Harry would shimmy down his drainpipe, dressed and ready to save the world.

He never regretted it, not once.

And as he lay still on his cold hard wood floor, like the one in Marcus's flat, listening to the rain fall on the roof over head, he wished (oh how he wished) he was somewhere else, that he was in the booth at The Impostor, Bella telling Marcus off for something and serving them coffee. Marcus' strong arms would be wrapped around his waist, and the others would be chatting about whatever the next possible conquest might entail.

Or that he was with Marcus lying on the floor in his flat listening to whatever very loud punk band Marcus had just discovered. The images he had so firmly fixed in front of his tightly closed eyes vanished when Harry heard his father on the other side of his locked door. He knew an argument would start as soon as James saw he hadn't bothered to unpack anything.

He ignored James. His hands shook itching for a cigarette. His world had changed and tomorrow he'd have to face it. He'd have to face a whole school of it, but tonight, tonight for the last time he just pretended nothing was wrong.

-fin-


End file.
